


I'm a Fight With Myself ('Til I'm Bleeding)

by silkstocking



Category: Teen Wolf (TV) RPF
Genre: Daddy Kink, Dom/sub Play, M/M, Multi, OT3, Spanking, Yuleporn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-02-27 14:22:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2696198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silkstocking/pseuds/silkstocking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tyler loves to watch JR put Dylan in his place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm a Fight With Myself ('Til I'm Bleeding)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Black_piano_keys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black_piano_keys/gifts).



> The characters in this story are fictional representations of real people and all of the events are 100% fictional (as far as I know; if they are genuinely getting up to this kind of thing, more power to them). 
> 
> Thanks to Lan for betaing even though this isn't your fandom and to Black_piano_keys for the excellent prompt. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Title from Not Your Fault by Awolnation.

Dylan is flirty as fuck tonight. He and Posey were already messed up on something by the time they got here, and from the moment he sat down he’s been fluttering his goddamn eyelashes at everyone and grinning that big dopey grin. Tyler wonders what’s happened, if something has triggered it; he hasn’t seen Dyl put on this particular persona in a long time. Holland keeps shooting little sympathetic looks at Tyler every time Dylan laughs too loud at something one of the others says, and he isn’t sure when he had gotten so obvious. He chances a glance at JR across the room. Tyler can tell he’s annoyed; he’s not smiling as much as usual but he looks like he’s keeping up his conversation with Ian so probably no one has noticed anything weird.

 _Game of Thrones_ is still playing in the background but for once Tyler can’t focus on it at all. He feels antsy and he catches himself drumming his fingers against his leg more than once. It’s the proximity of JR and Dylan, the anticipation of what comes later when the party ends and everyone else clears out. It started out innocent enough: when the show was still new and they were all still finding their feet, he and Dylan and Posey would sit on the couch with a beer and listen to JR talk about the business, taking in his fatherly advice and stories about people in the industry. He can’t even remember at what point Posey had drifted away, at what point his and Dyl’s occasional hookups had started to include JR, but he does remember the lust in JR’s eyes that first time the two of them had dropped to their knees for him, the first time Dylan had surprised them all by sobbing out _daddy_ after JR had teased him to breaking point. That’s why Tyler can’t help glancing over every five seconds at where Dylan is sprawled across a couch with his head in Shelley’s lap and his feet in Posey’s. Shelley is combing her fingers through his hair as they laugh together, looking cozy as hell. When he manages to tear his gaze away, he catches JR’s eye and the intensity there makes him flinch. They don’t get the chance to do this all the time, but when they do, JR expects their full attention. Whatever happens later is not going to be pretty.

Afterward, when the last person finally leaves after a round of _No man, it’s cool, I’m gonna crash_ _here_ that Tyler thinks is probably not fooling anyone, he turns from the door to find JR watching Dylan where he’s lying on the floor in front of the couch. Dylan seems to have come down now, is just staring at the ceiling and absently scratching his head where Shelley’s hands had been.

“Dylan,” JR says. Just that one word, just his name. Tyler sees a flash of fear and arousal in Dylan’s eyes as they snap up to JR’s face. It’s hardly surprising; the disappointment in the older man’s voice is enough to make Tyler want to drop to the floor there and then and it isn’t even aimed at him. Not this time, anyway. Without saying anything, Dylan scrambles up onto his knees in a flurry of long limbs, keeping his eyes lowered to the ground. The pose is submissive, but Tyler can see tension in the lines of his shoulders, the set of his jaw. _Fuck._ Maybe this has been Dylan’s plan the whole time: getting JR pissed and possessive. Self-destructive asshole.

JR takes a step forward and Tyler sees Dylan flinch, just the tiniest bit. There’s a soft sound, and he only realizes it came from him when JR turns to him instead, his gaze warm.

“Tyler. Why don’t you make yourself comfortable whilst I… deal with Dylan?”

Almost before he’s even realized he’s doing it, Tyler is on his knees next to Dylan with his hands clasped behind his back. He feels the stress immediately begin to ebb out of him, the worry and the jealousy he’s been feeling all night dissipating. JR gave him permission to let it go. JR will deal with it.

He glances up to see that JR has stalked across the room and is looming over them both, all tightly-coiled power, disapproval simmering under the surface of his carefully-blank expression. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Dylan biting his lip as he looks at JR through his eyelashes. It seems like he plans to follow this bratty episode through to the end.

“Dylan,” JR says again, his voice hard. “Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

This time Dylan smirks, lets his gaze travel slowly, lecherously, up JR’s muscular body. “Yeah?”

Tyler is expecting _something_ , is almost prepared for it, but it still takes him by surprise when JR steps right into Dylan’s space and grabs his hair, dragging his head back and almost pulling him off his knees. Dylan yelps and flails, his hands scrabbling for purchase in the fabric of JR’s jeans.

“What was that?” JR growls.

“Sorry!” Dylan gasps, blinking rapidly. “I’m sorry.” A tendon in his long neck is pulled taut, exposing his throat, and Tyler wants desperately to bite it. It makes his mouth water to see all that pale flesh on display, unmarked and beautiful.

“Sorry, huh?” JR says, his fingers flexing in Dylan’s hair and making him hiss in pain. “What are you sorry for?”

“For being a dick,” Dylan grits out.

“Yeah?” JR says, mocking Dylan’s tone from before.

“Shit,” Dylan says, “fuck, yeah, for being a fucking asshole, for sassing you, _please daddy._ ” That last part comes out as a whine, a rush of desperation. Tyler can see the moment where Dylan starts to give in and he feels his cock twitch. He loves watching this, watching JR putting Dylan in his place, watching the shifts in JR’s body language as he settles into the game.

“What else?” JR asks, yanking Dylan’s head to reveal more of his neck to Tyler and making him yelp again. “What do you think, Tyler? What should he be sorry for?”

Tyler swallows. “For flirting right in front of us. For – for doing it on purpose.”

“Yeah?” JR says again, bending so his mouth is close to Dylan’s ear. “You like having people put their hands in your hair?”

Dylan whimpers and JR lets go of him, lets him fall forward gracelessly onto his arms. JR walks around him, considering.

“Take off your clothes, Dylan,” he says and Dylan does, yanks his shirt carelessly over his head and shimmies out of his jeans, awkward and coltish as always. Tyler follows every inch of revealed skin with his eyes: the firm lines of his chest, his sharp hipbones, the delicious trail of dark hair on his stomach. It turns out Dylan’s not wearing underwear: clearly he was prepared for this, has been anticipating it just as much as Tyler. With a final glance up at JR, Dylan drops back to his hands and knees, truly submissive this time with his head down on his forearms and his gorgeous ass in the air. It’s obscene. He’s breathtaking.

“Now,” JR says, running his hand along the ridges of Dylan’s naked spine and making him shiver, “how should we deal with that? Maybe I should mark you up, huh? Show everyone who you belong to? Who your daddy is, huh?”

Dylan makes choked-off sound, keeping his eyes on the floor. He looks young and vulnerable, fragile, and he’s trembling with the effort of holding himself small and still.

“Or maybe you’d like Hoechlin to do it?”

Dylan’s head snaps up at that. He meets Tyler’s gaze and winks like the asshole he is, cocky again now that he’s not in pain. The illusion of innocence is shattered and Tyler’s dick is suddenly rock hard, uncomfortable in his pants. He’s well aware that the jealousy he feels about Dylan is misguided at best, but shit, he still loves the thought of possessing him like that. Tonight he wants something else, though. Tonight he wants to watch JR take him apart.

“Can I-” Tyler starts, keeping his voice steady and holding his submissive posture. JR turns to him, surprised. “Jay, can I suggest something, please?”

“Sure, Ty. Go ahead.”

“He’s being a brat. I, uh, I think he needs you to spank him.”

JR smiles at him approvingly, wide and bright, and it warms Tyler to the tips of his fingers.

“You hear that, D?” he says. Dylan makes a soft noise and JR puts a hand soothingly on his flank. “You got Hoech here worked up enough to be decisive for once.” He grabs a handful of Dylan’s round ass, digs his fingers in and squeezes until Dylan squirms. “Don’t go anywhere.”

“Yeah, no, where would I go?” Dylan snarks, and JR gives him a sharp swat that makes him hiss. “Jesus, fine.”

“What did you say?”

There’s something dangerous in JR’s voice that sends a shiver down Tyler’s spine. Dylan twitches and Tyler can see him forcing stillness into his limbs. He keeps his head down, says nothing.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

JR slips his ring off his finger and puts it in his pocket. He shrugs out of his button-down too and tosses it onto the back of the couch. Underneath he’s wearing a tight grey tank that shows off his arms. The muscles in his back ripple under the thin fabric as he stretches, cracks his knuckles out in front of him, takes his time. Dylan’s fidgeting again, waiting for the other shoe to drop, and JR’s letting him wait. Tyler can see goosebumps on his naked flesh where the cold air touches his skin and the first flush of arousal, of anticipation, is staining his cheeks pink.

 “How you doing, Ty?” JR’s voice breaks into Tyler’s thoughts.

He ruffles Tyler’s hair and Tyler closes his eyes, leans into the touch, hums softly. There’s an ache in his knees and the burn in his arms is starting to feel right. It’s good: this discipline, this stillness.

“Yeah?” JR says, crouching down so he’s on Tyler’s level. “Hey, buddy, look at me.” His lips are soft against Tyler’s when he kisses him, warm and familiar and safe, and Tyler can taste beer on his tongue.

He forces his eyes open again. “Good. I’m – good.”

“You are,” JR says, pressing another kiss to Tyler’s forehead. “You're so good for me.” With a last smile for Tyler, he pushes himself up and settles on the couch, right in the center. “Dylan.”

“Yeah?” Dylan says, but it’s much more subdued than last time now he’s had so much time without contact with JR. He doesn’t look up but Tyler can see a muscle in his leg twitching–a nervous tic.

“My lap,” JR says simply, and a shudder sweeps Dylan’s lithe body. He scrambles inelegantly over to JR, hesitates for a second too long and JR grabs him, moving him where he wants him as if he weighs nothing. Tyler has a perfect view of Dylan's ass where he's bent over JR’s knee. JR sees him looking and meets his gaze with a wink.

JR gets his hand on Dylan’s back, holds him firm. There is a beat, a long moment where JR carries himself as if in suspended animation, one hand pressing down into Dylan’s flesh and the other raised, still. Dylan is squirming against his grip, making soft, desperate noises as his legs seek purchase on the wooden floor.

“Dylan,” JR says calmly. “You understand why I’m doing this?”

Dylan makes a strangled, desperate noise in the back of his throat.

“I said do you understand, Dylan?”

“Yes, JR,” Dylan says. It comes out breathy. “Just – fuck, just fucking do it.”

“I want you to be still and I want you to count them. Twenty, with just my hand. Got it?”

“Yeah, fuck, come on.”

JR waits until Dylan stop struggling, until he huffs out his breath and goes limp, and then his hand finally, finally connects with Dylan’s ass with a loud crack, making him yelp and his legs spasm.

“One,” Dylan says, sounding studiedly bored.

 Tyler is fascinated by the first flush of pink that blooms and fades on Dylan’s pale skin in the shape of JR’s palm. It's gone almost as soon as it’s there, but the second time JR’s hand comes down, the pink lingers.

“Fucking – two.”

JR growls and raises his hand again. Tyler's eyes are drawn to the way his bicep flexes, the way his tattoos dance with the shifting of his muscles, the contrast with Dylan’s long, lean form. It thrills Tyler to watch them together.

 _Crack_. “Three,” Dylan says. “Shit, JR, I thought this was supposed to hurt.”

JR grabs his hair and yanks his head back so he can look at Dylan’s face. “Just the numbers, Dylan, or I'll add five more. I won't warn you again.”

Dylan makes a strangled sound that’s almost a whimper and doesn’t talk back. _Crack_. _Crack._

 “Five.” He’s still aiming for bored and sarcastic but he’s panting hard now; it’s clear this is starting to affect him.

His left ass cheek is colored a beautiful rosy shade. JR runs his hand over it, makes a satisfied noise and switches to the other cheek.

Six to nine come in quick succession, barely giving Dylan time to grit out the numbers before the next blow hits. He's moving again, grinding his stiffening cock against JR’s lap.

“Is this what you call good behavior?” JR says mildly. “If you're getting off on this, I'm not sure you've learned anything at all.”

The next blow is harder than the first ones had been -  a ringing slap to the reddest part of Dylan’s ass that Tyler sees JR shake out of his hand afterwards. Dylan howls.

“What was that? I didn't hear a number.”

“Ten.” There’s no trace of snark in his voice now and his flailing legs have stilled. His breathing comes in short gasps, as if he can’t get enough air into his lungs.

“That's better.” JR gives him another hard slap to the other cheek. When he moves his hand away, there are distinct red finger marks standing out livid against Dylan’s flushed skin. Tyler desperately wants to get his mouth on them, to lathe his tongue over them and take away some of the sting.

The next few slaps land on the back of Dylan’s thighs. JR is giving him a small reprieve; to see if he’s going to talk back more, Tyler thinks.

“Fifteen,” Dylan sighs, sounding like he’s high all over again. His breathing has evened out and Tyler sees him relax minutely into JR. He’s giving in, giving over control and it’s beautiful to watch. There’s an ache in Tyler’s knees and his shoulders are screaming but this, this is what he wanted.

Instead of another blow, JR brings his hand around to Dylan's face, tilts his chin up so he can check on him before pushing two fingers roughly into his mouth. Tyler can't see his expression, but he hears the startled, cut off sound Dylan makes.

“Come the fuck on,” JR says. “You wanted to get off and I know you can suck better than that. Get them wet.”

Dylan moans sluttily around JR’s fingers and, fuck, Tyler is painfully hard now. He flexes his hands but keeps his arms behind him, though it's getting tough to maintain the pose. The desire to touch and be touched is almost overwhelming. A sound escapes, a moan that he tries to bite off, and JR turns to him.

“You're doing so good, Ty. You can take a break if you need to.”

Tyler finds he doesn't want to. He wants to prove to JR how good he can be, that he's different from Dylan. And the burn is there, a constant reminder of his body and his control over it. He can keep that control even when Dylan is splayed out like a feast in front of him, writhing and moaning and grinding against JR; even when JR’s skin glistens with a sheen of sweat and Tyler can see the flex of his thighs as he works hard to keep Dylan in place. Even when JR removes his fingers from Dylan's mouth with a pornographic pop and unceremoniously presses them into his ass. Dylan gives a broken-off moan. Tyler can’t take his eyes off them: the way JR’s fingers disappear inside Dylan; the way Dylan’s body opens up, takes them in greedily. JR pauses for a moment to let them both get accustomed to the stretch, and then he scissors his fingers and Dylan gasps and jerks forward almost out of JR’s grasp.

“Tyler, can you give me a hand here?” JR says, and _oh_.

Tyler releases his grip on his own hands and stretches, feeling the blood rush to his aching arms. He shuffles closer to JR but hesitates for a moment with his hands hovering just above Dylan’s back.

JR flashes Tyler a smile, leans over to plant a haphazard kiss somewhere on his hairline. “Go on.”

Dylan’s skin is soft and smooth under Tyler’s fingers. He traces the ridges of his spine, the gaps between the vertebrae where the skin is pulled taut. Dylan is quivering like a baby rabbit and breathing like he’s just run a marathon. Tyler wants to touch him everywhere, soothe him and hold him – _Shit_. That’s too much.

“Can I –“ Tyler asks instead, pushing those feelings back down. He’s looking at JR but when it comes down to it, he’s not even sure what it is he’s asking for.

But JR just smiles that warm smile and says, “Sure, kiss him.” Somehow, he always knows.

Tyler slides his hand into Dylan’s hair, lifts his head gently and looks at him for a moment. He’s a mess: his eyes are glassy and unfocused and there’s a welt on his lower lip where he’s been biting it. Tyler kisses him softly, carefully at first, and then their tongues are sliding together, hot and wet and insistent, and Dylan breathes a moan into his mouth. Tyler tastes the coppery tang of blood as he pulls away, dazed. Dylan grins at him lopsidedly.

“That’s enough of that,” JR says, though there’s no sting behind it and his voice has gone fond. “We’re not done here.” He punctuates his words by doing something with his fingers that makes Dylan jerk and whimper. Tyler presses down on Dylan’s back to hold him firm, and JR squeezes Tyler’s hand briefly with his free hand before he pulls his fingers out of Dylan, who keens at the loss.

  1. “Sixteen.”



“Good boy.” There’s a note of pride in JR’s voice as he raises his hand again. His blows are getting a little ragged now, a little less precise. He alternates slaps with fingering Dylan open and Dylan makes needy sounds that go straight to Tyler’s dick. By the time they get to twenty, Dylan is squirming in JR’s lap with an expression of bliss on his face and Tyler is painfully turned on, almost ready to rut against JR himself. He keeps that urge in check, focuses instead on the ache in his legs where he’s kneeling on hardwood.

“Twenty,” Dylan says, and then, “please.” Fuck, that’s the tone of voice that means he’s totally gone. “Please, daddy.”

“Please what?” JR says. His voice hitches slightly and Tyler can see in his eyes that he’s starting to come apart too.

“Daddy, please,” Dylan whines again. Maybe he doesn’t know what he’s asking for either.

 “Yeah, baby?” JR says and presses another finger into Dylan, making him gasp. He’s looking at Tyler now. “What do you think, Ty? You deserve your pick and it seems our boy here has finally learned his lesson.”

 “Can I – I want to watch him come and then I want to touch you,” Tyler says in a rush.

JR hums his assent. “That’s an idea I can get behind. Come on, sweetheart,” he says to Dylan, running his free hand soothingly over Dylan’s back, over his sides, over his reddened ass. “Let’s give Hoechlin a show, shall we?”

Dylan gasps and bucks his hips, fucks himself back onto JR’s hand.

JR grins, predatory, and twists his fingers. “Yeah, you like that? The idea of showing off for him?” he practically purrs, and Dylan nods desperately. “Come on, then. If you’re gonna be all over someone, be all over him. You know how mad it drives him to see you flirt with all those other assholes?”

Dylan is talking too, a stream of garbled curses and endearments. He ruts frantically against JR’s leg and he’s wild-eyed when he looks up at Tyler. “Hoech,” he says, and it comes out a little broken.

Tyler kisses him then, smashes their lips together with no finesse, just pure, naked want. Dylan kisses him back messy and open-mouthed, twining their tongues together. Tyler drags his teeth over the welt on Dylan’s lip and savors the gasp he gets in return. He kisses a trail along Dylan’s jawline and down his neck, feeling the roughness of stubble under his lips.

“Come on, Dyl,” he murmurs into the hollow of Dylan’s throat before pulling back to look at him. “Fuck, you’re beautiful. I wanna see you.”

It’s only a few more breathless moans and cants of his hips back onto JR’s fingers before Dylan’s face goes slack and he comes with a wail, shooting across JR’s lap and onto the floor. Tyler winds his hand into Dylan’s hair and kisses him through it, gentle, languid kisses against Dylan’s parted lips. He can hear JR murmuring fond nonsense above them and running his hands gently over Dylan’s body as he comes down.

After a few minutes, JR says, “You okay there, D?”

He releases his grip and wipes his hand on his soiled jeans. Dylan slides clumsily off his lap, looks up at him with wide eyes.

“Yeah,” he says, grinning dopily. “Yeah, dude, I’m pretty fucking awesome.”

“Can you sit up here with me or do you need to kneel?”

 “I can – fuck.” Dylan winces as he settles back onto his haunches. “Ugh, maybe no sitting for a while.”

He kneels at JR’s feet instead. JR strokes his face gently, lets Dylan anchor himself with his touch, and turns to Tyler.

“So, Ty,” he says, turning on that smile that makes Tyler want to prostrate himself at his feet and give him anything he asked for. “What did you want to do?”

Tyler feels kind of like the lump in his throat will burst if he tries to speak. He bites his lip and looks up at JR, who takes pity on him.

“I’d like it if you blew me,” he suggests, and that’s all the encouragement Tyler needs.

He unbuttons JR’s come-streaked jeans and tugs them down along with his underwear, letting his half-hard cock spring free. He settles himself between JR’s spread legs and runs his hands along his muscular thighs. There’s a spot of Dylan’s come on JR’s stomach and Tyler licks it off, making JR’s cock twitch and Dylan suck in a breath next to him.

“Fuck, Ty,” JR groans and leans down to briefly kiss the bitter taste of Dylan off Tyler’s tongue.

JR is fully hard now. His cock is gorgeous, squat and thick, and there are a couple of drops of pre-come leaking from the tip. Tyler flicks his tongue out to taste them, making JR hiss through his teeth.

“Don’t be a fucking tease,” he starts, and then gasps as Tyler swallows him down in one smooth movement. Tyler pauses there to let his throat relax and adjust, his nose buried in the coarse tangle of hair at the base of JR’s cock. He inhales deeply; _fuck_ , but JR smells good, musky and mingled with hints of Dylan. He pulls back slowly, swirling his tongue around the head the way he knows JR loves before sinking back down again. JR’s cock is a comforting weight in his mouth, on his tongue, and the smell and taste of him fills Tyler’s senses.

“You’re so good at that,” JR says and Tyler’s heart leaps at the praise. “Christ, Ty, your mouth.”

JR’s hand snakes into his hair and _this_ is what Tyler wants. He makes himself go limp, opens his throat as wide as he can and just lets JR fuck up into his mouth with his hands on Tyler’s head to keep him just where he needs him. There are tears streaming from Tyler’s eyes and his face is a mess with drool but he feels calm. JR won’t let him choke.

Suddenly, Tyler is aware of a hand reaching between his legs to unbutton his jeans and he gags a little in surprise. Dylan’s long fingers wrap around Tyler’s dick and _fuck_ , it feels amazing to touch and be touched by both of them at once. He moans around the cock in his mouth; JR moans as well and Dylan is murmuring filth in Tyler’s ear. He’s pinned, caught between them, engulfed and overwhelmed with sensation. Tyler lets go, submits himself to them both.

JR’s thrusts are getting erratic and his grip on Tyler’s hair is just this side of painful. Tyler can taste pre-come, and he increases his suction, uses his tongue as much as he can when he’s taking JR this deep. Dylan is jerking him off with clever fingers, a twist of his wrist on each upstroke that he knows drives Tyler crazy, and the pressure is building, and it’s too much.

“Fuck,” JR moans. “Fuck, you’re so good for me, Tyler, feels so good –“

He feels the first hot spurts of come hit the back of his throat at the same time that he’s coming himself, spilling over Dylan’s fingers as a wave of pleasure spreads across his body.

It's a few seconds before Tyler come back to himself, but when he does, JR is petting his hair and Dylan his half slumped against him, his face buried in the crook of Tyler's neck.

“Hey,” JR says warmly, “get up here.” He smiles at both of them as they settle themselves either side of him on the couch and brushes his lips against Dylan’s when he gives a hiss of pain. They’re all a mess, covered in bruises and sweat and drying come, but it feels grounding to press his body along JR’s and know Dylan is on the other side, a comforting presence.

“Do you wanna talk about whatever the fuck it was that brought this,” – JR gestures expansively with his hands – “episode on?”

“Nope. Thanks though, man,” Dylan says, his tone casual but his expression soft and fond when he looks up at JR. “It’s all good. Just needed to get it out of my system.”

JR fishes his ring out of his pocket and slips it back on before putting one arm around Tyler’s shoulder and the other around Dylan’s, pulling them both close. The gesture reminds Tyler of the impermanence of this arrangement, makes him painfully aware that he’s only borrowing them. He reaches across JR’s lap to lace his fingers with Dylan’s where they’re tapping out a rhythm on JR’s thigh and rests his head on JR’s chest. For now, it’s enough.


End file.
